The three talked with hostage negotiators via an open-frequency walkie-talkie heard around the state while somewhere in the building there was a dead or dying correctional officer and three other hostages.

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Claire DeMatteis, Gov. Carney's temporary special assistant to spearhead reform at the beleaguered DOC, issues her first six-month report detailing the state's progress in implementing the Independent Review's recommendations at the Vaughn.
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Early this week, the trio was the focus of a New Castle County Superior Court jury as Ayers and Staats rifled questions across the courtroom at Downs — their former prison ally turned state's witness — in their fight against charges that include first-degree murder for the uprising.

“You took it upon yourself to make me a part of a conspiracy?” said Staats, who is representing himself, questioning discrepancies between Downs’ trial testimony and previous statements he made to police.

After some 25 hours of other trial testimony, Downs, nicknamed Diamond, gave the jury the only direct evidence thus far linking Staats and Ayers to planning what became a deadly uprising.

Upon questioning by prosecutors, Downs said Staats and Ayers were among those involved in planning a protest against prison conditions at Vaughn in the weeks leading up to Feb. 1, 2017. The discussion eventually evolved into a plan to take over the building, he told the jury, adding that he wasn't involved in that stage of planning.

Dwayne Staats, 35, is serving a life sentence for first-degree murder. He is one of the men on trial for last year's deadly prison that left a correctional officer dead.(Photo: DELAWARE DEPARTMENT OF JUSTICE)

Downs' cross-examination by Staats and Ayers, who is also representing himself, was at times personal.

Downs described himself as Ayers' "companion" and "walking buddy." He answered affirmatively when Ayers asked him if they became so close that "your family was my family and my family was your family."

Later, presiding Judge William C. Carpenter Jr., was assessing an objection by prosecutors and suggested Downs and Ayers are friends.

"He ain't my friend," Ayers snapped.

A chance at freedom?

Much of 36-year-old Ayers' questioning sought to explore what benefit had come to Downs, 53, who at times struck a pained look on the stand.

"I came up in the streets. I live in the streets. I was married to the streets. So to do (testify), it ain't right," Downs said. "I'm doing it anyways."

With that in mind, Ayers questioned Downs on a statement he gave police immediately after the riot in which he said he had "no problem" cooperating with authorities and had done so before.

Downs is nearing the third decade of a life sentence for a Maryland murder in the 1990s. He told the jury he was the former leader of a gang known as the Black Guerrilla Family and was transferred from Maryland to prison in Delaware because of his "affiliations."

Ayers read from the statement that Downs said he was in Delaware for assisting a federal prosecutor in Maryland who "gave you what you needed" because "your life was in danger."

Jarreau Ayers, 36, is currently serving a life sentence for first-degree murder. He's accused of being involved in the deadly prison riot last year at the James T. Vaughn Correctional Institute.(Photo: DELAWARE DEPARTMENT OF JUSTICE)

Downs insisted his affiliation was why he was in Delaware.

Staats also explored Downs' potential benefit for testifying and the potential of getting out.

Downs has had several appeals of his murder sentence batted down. But recently, a witness recanted her statement, Downs said upon questioning from Staats.

He said it would be "foolish and idiotic" for him to get another life sentence with the potential of eventually overturning his previous murder conviction. Unlike 16 other indicted Vaughn inmates, Downs was not charged with murder in the riot.

Previously in the trial, a detective said Downs' cooperation had nothing to with him not being charged with murder like most of Vaughn defendants. Downs ultimately pleaded to the charge of riot in return for his cooperation with Delaware prosecutors.

Staats asked him if he wrote the statement for the Maryland witness recanting her testimony. Downs said no. Staats presented him with correspondence intercepted in his cell that suggested otherwise.

"What it is, is me telling her she can't write it like that," Downs said. "The way she sent it to me, I couldn't use it."

Ben Gifford, a defense attorney representing defendant Deric Forney, drew a chart depicting the 100-plus year potential sentence Downs faced before his plea and the zero to three years of jail time he may get for the riot charge.

Downs said he has received no promises from prosecutors.

Under questioning from Gifford, Downs admitted to immediately telling police he wanted to be represented by a prosecutor and needed his name "cleaned up" before he testified and that he wanted out of Delaware.

Credibility questioned

Staats seized on Downs' representation that he used his clout in the situation for good. Previously, Staats said Downs would sacrifice others for his own benefit.

To illustrate that, he played audio of a phone call from before the riot where Downs asks his daughter to retrieve an ounce of marijuana. Downs told the jury he was going to smuggle it in and that it is a conversation many inmates have.

"This is your daughter though. Don't you agree you are risking her freedom for your selfishness?" Staats asked. "If you do this about her, you don't care about an inmate or correctional officer."

Staats also chipped at Downs' assertion that his goal was to save lives in the uprising. Downs' voice can be heard in several audio clips from hostage negotiations. He said he needed to step up to get the media's eyes on the riot.

"People that were in charge at James T. Vaughn at the time in my opinion were murderous," Downs said. "Had the media not got involved and put a light on the situation, I believed they were going to come in that building and do some damage to some people, whoever they saw first."

Under Staats questioning, Downs said he did not intervene when he saw Lt. Steven Floyd being choked and beaten with a fire extinguisher hours after inmates took control of the building.

Gifford noted that Downs had been caught with contraband, including razors, in his cell numerous times in the past decade.

Both Gifford and Ayers seized on Downs' lack of candor with investigators during interviews after the uprising.

Inmates are contained at Vaughn Correctional Center near Smyrna after Building C was secured in February.(Photo: Courtesy of NBC10, SkyForce10)

Downs was interviewed by police twice in the day after the uprising but did not name names. Under Gifford's questioning, Downs said he spoke to other Building C inmates about the uprising following his first statement.

Gifford has said the investigation was tainted by inmates talking to inmates.

Downs denied he was holding the names as leverage and said he was not being forthcoming in order to conceal his cooperation with police from other inmates.

“The side of the track I come from, nobody wants snitch attached to their name,” Downs said.

Downs did start to provide names to investigators two weeks after the uprising. Gifford asked what he was promised by authorities that made him open up.

Downs initially testified that he did not want to give names while on jail grounds and answered questions as if he opened up in an interview outside of the prison complex.

But under questioning from Ayers, he noted that he actually started to give police names in an interview at the jail.

Gifford also questioned Downs about a phone call he made to his once fiance days before the uprising. The woman, who Downs said is now a friend, was a correctional officer at Vaughn until she was fired for having a relationship with Downs in 2006, he said.

He called her Bonnie — as in the Bonnie to his Clyde, he told the jury. He told her that he needed "his Bonnie back" in order to get an attorney. She asked why and he said he couldn't speak about it over the recorded prison line.

Seeking to draw a connection to Downs being involved in planning the takeover, Gifford asked how many meetings about the uprising had Downs attended by then. Downs said none, but added he had by then spoken to others about a potential protest.

Little connection to violent acts

Downs' primary contribution to prosecutors' case is identifying those who he said planned the uprising.

After first saying he could not remember, he named specific names of men he saw attacking Floyd. All those he named are to be tried at a later date.

This undated file photo shows Lt. Steven Floyd, who died in a February 2017 inmate riot and hostage standoff at the James T. Vaughn Correctional Center near Smyrna.(Photo: AP)

He said little that tied the men currently on trial to committing violent acts associated with the riot.

He said he saw Staats carrying a walkie-talkie in one hand and a shank in the other. He said he saw Forney, another inmate currently on trial and represented by a defense attorney, enter the building with a mask.

Prosecutors have said the uprising was initiated when masked inmates re-entered the building from its yard and overpowered Floyd.

Of Ayers, Downs said "I don't know why he received the charges he is receiving" and said he acted similar to him, roaming the prison halls during the uprising.

Prosecutors have argued the men were involved in the riot's planning, and during the course of the riot, Floyd was murdered. Therefore, the planners are liable for murder even if they didn't agree to commit that crime, prosecutors said.